


Exceeds Expectations

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blind Date, Blow Jobs, Cooking Lessons, First Date, Frottage, M/M, Punk Greg (referenced), mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Greg's on a blind date, though he suspects he is the butt of a joke played by John. His date may look like Mycroft Holmes, but he's a different person in a casual setting. A person Greg would definitely like to get to know better.





	1. Exceeds Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> It's my own fault for joining a Facebook group of people who keep offering excellent prompts that spin out of control in my head! This one wrote itself, just about, and is likely to be part one of a series.
> 
> Prompt: Meme saying, 'Goes on a blind date; date turns out to be very lovely and very attractive.'
> 
> This is for Daniela, the devil on my shoulder who kept saying, 'doitdoitdoitdoit!'
> 
> EDIT: Right after I wrote this, I read and loved the story [The Weight of History](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8244632) by scarletmanuka and it started me thinking about spinning this out a little longer into chapters rather than a series. Bam! Here we are, a perfectly good multichapter having happened. Sigh. How delightful! I hope you're enjoying it too, dear readers. : )

Greg opened the large, heavy door a little hesitantly. This was the address he’d been given, but he was a little nervous, to be honest. Blind dates were not really his thing, but he was hardly in a position to turn down a night out. John had teased him that he would end up dating Anderson if he wasn’t careful, they both spent so much time at work. Greg had risen to what he knew was the bait, and now here he was, on a dare more or less, for a blind date. 

He’d dressed casually, as John had suggested, then arrived fifteen minutes early. The doors opened into a restaurant, it looked like, though he could see cooking benches along one wall and a small bar kind of area, too. Greg frowned for a moment, then spied the sign that explained he’d arrived for a cooking class. All the photos were of slightly awkward looking couples with their creations, so he assumed that most of the people there would be early in their relationship, looking for something different to do other than the fall back of dinner and a movie. Perfect. A ‘something to do together’ evening, which would give them something in common, something to do together, and something to talk about as they ate. He had to give John kudos, this was a good idea for a blind date.

He greeted the woman who came over to welcome him, and he introduced himself.

“Oh,  you’re here on the blind date!” She exclaimed, and he flushed.

“Um, yeah.” He admitted, rubbing one hand self-consciously along the back of his neck. “You don’t happen to know if, um, the person I’m meeting is here yet?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been sent a photo though, so when he arrives, I’ll introduce you.”

He nodded, tugging for a moment at his shirt, and she leaned in and said, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look great.” He blinked, wondering if she was coming on to him.

“You look a little nervous, and for a blind date where I’m guessing you didn’t know what you were doing, it’s really hard to dress right.” She explained herself, and Greg understood. She was trying to put him at ease, though it was just slightly inappropriate. He smiled automatically.

“Thanks.” He said, then moved over to the bar for a well needed drink as he waited. There were half a dozen other people there, all of whom were sitting in well-defined couples, so he figured it would be clear when his date arrived. Accepting the beer from the bartender, Greg turned around to face the door, and almost dropped his pint.

The man standing uncertainly in the doorway was reading the same sign as Greg had when he entered. He was a familiar figure, long legged and well postured, but that was where the familiarity ended. Mycroft Holmes looked completely different. Gone was the three piece suit, replaced by well-cut jeans and a dress shirt, no tie. No _tie!_ The usual closed off, haughty expression was replaced by a look of uncertainly, almost vulnerability, and Greg was amazed the man could even make that expression, let experience such nerves. He was usually so inscrutable, and Greg felt a pulse of interest as he took the opportunity to study that face at his leisure.

His mouth looked softer, less abrupt without its disapproving look, and his whole countenance seemed more relaxed. Without its superior gaze, Mycroft’s face was more open, and Greg could more easily imagine him smiling or even laughing at something. Did he even have a sense of humour? Was he in on this being a joke? Greg’s heart beat faster as he considered the possibility that Mycroft had no idea, was just looking for some companionship, as was Greg. And someone thought they’d be a good match. Mycroft was not wearing gloves, which was unusual, and Greg noticed that his hands were long and pale and soft. A small corner of his brain wondered what his fingerprints tasted like. Thrown by this stray thought, he shook it off and resumed his observation of the man. The umbrella was missing, of course, but his posture was still correct. The relaxed state of his shoulders, however, made it clear that for the first time in his experience, Mycroft Holmes was not in work mode. And it didn’t take a Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard to figure that if he was here, in casual clothes, and Greg was waiting for a blind date set up as a joke by John (and, he now suspected, Sherlock), then it was probable that…Mycroft was his date.

He watched in slow motion as the same waitress greeted him, then nodded enthusiastically and indicated Greg. She watched Mycroft’s face avidly, clearly loving the part where the blind daters (datees?) first spotted each other. Mycroft turned his gaze towards Greg, and their eyes locked. Greg raised one hand and grinned, a little forced but hoping for friendly. Mycroft’s face froze, his colour rising, and Greg’s hand dropped. Mycroft looked horrified at the sight of him. Greg felt his face heat up, and he turned away, embarrassed and a little angry. Clearly, Mycroft was not in on the joke, it was just about making them look like fools. Leaving his untouched drink on the bar, Greg turned to leave.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft’s voice sounded next to him, impeding his flight. Greg’s eyes flew towards where Mycroft now stood, close enough that Greg could see the resolve falter a little in his eyes, despite the polite smile on his mouth.

“Mycroft.” Greg said a little stupidly, his mind racing to keep up.

“I apologise for my reaction, I was surprised to recognise you here.” Mycroft admitted, his earlier flush staining his cheeks faintly again. “This is not a scenario in which I often find myself.”

Greg smiled, relieved. “Me either. I thought for a while John was setting me up for a joke, that nobody would show up.”

Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “I doubt John would do that to you, Detective Inspector. My brother, on the other hand…”

Greg grinned, slapping his hand on the bar. “I knew Sherlock had something to do with this! It’s got his sticky fingerprints all over it.”

To his surprise, Mycroft chuckled at this. “Indeed. I owed him a favour, unfortunately, and when he explained that I was to arrive here, dressed like this, I must admit I wondered what humiliation was in store for me.”

Greg nodded in agreement. It was not beyond Sherlock to arrange something so elaborate as a prank or retaliation for some slight or another.

“Instead,” Mycroft continued, “I find myself in store for a pleasant evening in your company, Detective Inspector.”

Greg’s pulse rose at the compliment. Clearly, Mycroft was up for an evening of friendship, if nothing else, though Greg’s gut feeling was that it was possible that more might be on the table, were it up to Mycroft.

“It’s Greg.” Greg told him, and Mycroft inclined his head. “Of course.”

“I was wondering if I should come at all.” Greg confessed, looking down at his pint. The foamy head of the beer was gone, and condensation had made the glass slick.

Mycroft’s eyebrow lifted. “And now?”

The intensity of his gaze was arresting, and Greg’s mouth went dry. “And now,” Greg answered, deciding to throw caution to the wind, “I find I’m on a date with you.” He made sure to inject as much warmth and pleasure into that statement as possible, his eyes sparkling and sincere.

Mycroft blinked, clearly a little taken aback at the overt flirting. “And that’s acceptable?” He ventured.

Greg chuckled. “More than acceptable, Mycroft,” he said, “I’m finding it exceeds my expectations.”

Mycroft nodded somewhat stiffly, then turned to the hovering bartender and ordered a drink.

“You look great.” Greg changed the subject slightly, “I didn’t even think you owned a pair of jeans.”

Mycroft looked self-consciously down at himself, smoothing the shirt over his ribs.

“You think so?” He asked, and it was the first time that Greg had ever heard him sound uncertain about anything, ever. It made him seem much more human, Greg realised, and just the slightest bit adorable. “Definitely.” He said firmly.

Mycroft’s gaze met his and he smiled gratefully. “I was doubtful this would be appropriate attire, but I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to change out of my usual working attire before attending this evening.” He said.

Greg shrugged. “I don’t mind the suits.” He said, picking up his previously abandoned pint and drinking from the now deflated beer.

Mycroft looked at him for a long moment.

“Your attire is also becoming, Gregory.” He said, holding Greg’s gaze intently. It was the first time Mycroft had ever called him by his first name, and the sound of it, deep and gravelly, made something turn and flutter in Greg’s stomach. He swallowed hard. This might actually end up being, well, a real date. Mycroft was nothing like the man he thought he knew, and a small spark was definitely building between the two of them. Mycroft was relaxed, funny and charming, three adjectives Greg never thought he’d apply to Mycroft Holmes. The other word of course, which suddenly seemed to be relevant, was _interested._


	2. An Enthralling Prospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up (because of the cooking, of course).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this little fic has spun itself out from a short piece to a multi chapter proper story! There's probably 5 chapters in total for this story (if you've read my other things, you know I'm a sucker for the long slow burn!). Enjoy this chapter and I hope it doesn't make you feel too hungry. : )

The cooking class was a stroke of genius, Greg thought as he and Mycroft donned the aprons the leader had given out. He wasn’t a great cook, but he liked to dabble, and the idea of creating something with Mycroft was appealing.

“Do you cook, Mycroft?” Greg asked, fumbling with the ties at the back of his apron.

Mycroft had tied his deftly and now watched Greg struggle for a moment. He placed his hands on Greg’s shoulders and gently turned him around, picking up the ties and tying them for him. He was tall enough that he could lean forward and speak directly into Greg’s ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. “Not as often as I’d like.”

Greg nodded. “At least you can tie the apron.” He said ruefully. “I might be more a hindrance than a help tonight.”

“Not at all, Gregory.” Mycroft replied. “Without you here, this evening would be another lonely night rather than an enthralling prospect.” He held Greg’s eyes while he spoke, and Greg could see the simple honesty of the statement. The leader asked for their attention at this point, before Greg could fully digest Mycroft’s last statement. Part of his brain thought about the implications of those words (Is he lonely? He thinks this date is an enthralling prospect!) while the rest concentrated on the instructions they were being given. When she’d finished speaking, the half dozen or so couples moved towards the kitchen, where their ingredients awaited them. Greg and Mycroft found a bench at the back and began examining the recipe.

“Should we do the dessert first?” Greg asked, and Mycroft nodded. “It can sit in the ice-cream machine until we are ready for it.” They started assembling the ingredients, a companionable silence apart from quiet requests to pass utensils or clarify the recipe. Their bench was a contrast to the others, where couples were getting to know each other, asking about family and work, from the snippets Greg could overhear. He felt fortuitous in that he and Mycroft knew each other enough to sink comfortably into this working silence without discussion. Mycroft was obviously content to work together without chatter, and Greg, if he was honest, did not know what he would say. They both accepted that this was a date, one that they both seemed keen to be on, if Greg was reading Mycroft rightly. And yet, neither had taken that step of instigating the date, leaving a layer of uncertainty still between them. It was a long time since he’d dated anyone, but the golden rule still stood, he was sure: honesty was always the best policy if you wanted to avoid breaking hearts, especially your own.

“So do you think your brother expected this evening to be a success?” Greg asked, finally wrestling the vanilla seeds free and dropping them into the milk.

Mycroft paused and considered the question. “I don’t know.” he replied. “I suspect he thought I would be too polite to stand you up, and would therefore be forced to endure an uncomfortable evening at the very least.” Greg nodded, unoffended at Sherlock’s lack of sensitivity. That sounded about what would have happened if neither of them had been interested, if that spark had not flared when he saw Mycroft in those jeans and without a tie. The lack of a tie seemed the most significant part of his wardrobe change, Greg had decided. The extra few centimetres of neck that was exposed by his open collar was pale and inviting, and Greg had found himself wondering what reaction he would get were he to kiss/nibble/lick his way up that throat towards his jaw and beyond. He was sure he’s spied a freckle or two, and he burned to know if there were more, and how many, and where…He had to pull himself together, and the fact that Mycroft appeared to have an idea what was distracting him was both a little embarrassing and a little arousing. He shook it off now, snapping the lid on the ice-cream maker with a satisfying click.

“Ice cream is finished.” He said, grinning at Mycroft. They held the gaze for a moment before looking to the recipe to see what to do next.

“I think John might have thought this was a legitimate set up.” Greg admitted, grabbing an onion. He started peeling the outer layers off, avoiding Mycroft’s eyes.

“Really?” Mycroft said, his tone sceptical. “That doesn’t sound like John.” He stopped, and Greg could see him thinking. “I believe it would be more likely that Sherlock convinced John he would produce a suitable date, and he thought it amusing to procure me, rather than a legitimate option.” It was sound logic, Greg had to admit, though he was mostly concentrating on the phrasing Mycroft had used.

“I know you don’t want to date your brother, so his opinion is moot,” Greg said, stepping closer to Mycroft, ostensibly to pick up a chopping board, “but if it’s any consolation, I think you’re a perfectly legitimate option. I just never realised that you were available for consideration.” He grinned at Mycroft, almost close enough to lean over and kiss him, then stepped back to start working on the onion. His heart was pounding at the risk he’d taken, making it clear to Mycroft that his attraction predated the beginning of the evening. He sincerely hoped that Mycroft had enough experience to know that it was his turn now, to reassure Greg that this was more than an improvement on a lonely night at home, but a genuinely desirable choice. Only then would they both have the confidence to move forward.

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft replied thoughtfully. Greg nodded, concentrating on his onion. Tears had started to form in his eyes, making it hard to see, and he paused to wipe at them with the backs of his hands. As he stood at the bench, hands at his eyes, he felt Mycroft move in behind him. Warm arms came around his body, and he realised what Mycroft was doing – dicing the onions, his arms reaching from behind Greg. Warm breath tickled Greg’s neck where Mycroft’s face had appeared, allowing him to see over Greg’s shoulder. If he turned his head just a little, Greg knew he could kiss Mycroft, but the taller man was concentrating on his task. It was blatant and completely unnecessary, and Greg understood with astonishment that Mycroft, the wordsmith, was using this non-verbal moment to convey what Greg had hoped for – reassurance. Mycroft wanted this too, he just didn’t have the words to express it, not this personal message, despite his flair for professional communication.

“Exceeds expectations.” Greg murmured, keeping his arms raised as Mycroft expertly diced the onion into tiny pieces. He resisted the urge to lean back into the solidness of the body behind him. To Greg’s regret, Mycroft finished, took the onions and added them to the pan, leaving the chopping board and knife in the sink. Now that the onion was gone, Greg’s eyes had slowed their weeping. He already missed the warmth of Mycroft’s body behind his, and as he wiped his eyes he wondered how many onions they might need for the rest of the dish.

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked, and Greg was startled by how close he was standing. Raising a tissue, Mycroft lifted an eyebrow and asked, “May I?” Greg nodded, and Mycroft touched one finger under his chin, tilting it upwards so he could wipe at the tears that had tracked down Greg’s face. The gentle touches on his face were electric, sending tingles down Greg’s body. His skin felt like it was sprinkled with popping candy, tiny explosions appearing all over his face, tracking the path those long pale fingers were marking across his skin. He couldn’t prevent his breath from stuttering as his heart raced. Mycroft was achingly gentle, fingers brushing lightly over Greg’s face as though memorising the terrain. Greg wanted to close his eyes and swoon at the experience, and he was close to giving in when Mycroft spoke.

“Done.” He said quietly, stepping back a little.

“Thank you,” Greg replied a little huskily. Belatedly, he answered Mycroft’s question. “I said, ‘Exceeds expectations’.”

Mycroft blinked, and Greg wondered if he remembered the earlier comment. His fears were unfounded however as a slow, glorious smile spread over Mycroft's face. It transformed him, Greg thought, into an incandescent being. If this is a happy Mycroft, his mind continued deliriously, I might just have to make that happen again. The glorious pleasure he radiated filled Greg, in all the sad and lonely places he’d protected inside himself since his divorce. Just for a second, Greg had a glimpse of what life might be like, and it almost overwhelmed him.

Greg cleared his throat, dragging himself out of dream land and back to reality. “Come on,” he said to Mycroft, “We’d better get cooking or we’ll never get to eat.”

An hour later, Mycroft had excused himself, which gave Greg a little breathing room. Thinking room, if he was honest with himself, as well as pull-yourself-together-man room. They had finished making their recipe, a wonderful paella, and when Mycroft returned, they would see how their ice cream had turned out. After the moment they had shared following the onion, the whole evening had seemed to move as in a dream. They had spoken little while they cooked, incidental touches and stolen glances speaking volumes of eagerness and reluctance rolled together. At this point, Greg knew that he and Mycroft, could be something remarkable if they allowed themselves to be. His heart thumped as he thought about the flashes of their potential future he had had while they worked together… _He and Mycroft cooking together in their kitchen….Lying entangled on the couch watching movies while rain lashed the windows…Greg arriving home late, crawling into bed to find Mycroft curled up, sleeping…the look on Sherlock’s face when they showed up somewhere together and he deduced their altered relationship_... This last made him laugh, Mycroft looking across the bench with an enquiring raised eyebrow. Greg had caught his eye, still grinning, and shaken his head in a ‘not important’ kind of way. A slow smile had come over Mycroft’s lips then, his face changing with fondness and wonder. Greg had held his eyes, entranced by the difference, before he had to turn away, the intensity of their connection making his mouth dry and his hands weaken.

 

The smile still played over his mouth, and he strongly suspected that Mycroft continued to watch him as he prepared the prawns for their meal. The amazement in Mycroft’s face played on Greg’s mind. Despite his clear attraction to Greg, and Greg’s efforts to reciprocate, the other man still seemed surprised to look up from his work and see Greg there, smiling warmly at him. Greg’s heart ached a little for Mycroft, who had so obviously resigned himself to a lonely life devoid of affection or the personal admiration of anyone. And yet here he was, having taken up the offered evening rather than turning back to the safety of his isolation. Since Greg had made his first overture towards their mutual understanding, Mycroft had demonstrated his own regard for Greg in a quiet, hesitant way. It was both fascinating and empowering to see his confidence grow as Mycroft responded to his efforts with acceptance and pleasure. By now, they were both flirting, though Greg was careful to keep his comments on par with Mycroft's, watching closely to see that Mycroft was still receptive. Despite the sometimes gruff exterior, Greg was sensitive enough to know that Mycroft was unlikely to say outright if he felt uncomfortable; as such, Greg looked for signs of him withdrawing. Wonderfully, none were forthcoming, and Greg continued to gently lead their slow dance of discovery.


	3. Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An understanding is reached.

When Mycroft returned, Greg smiled at him, allowing affection to colour his eyes.

“I think it might be perfect.” He announced, indicating the ice-cream he was about to sample.

“You tried it without me?” Mycroft asked, a mild rebuke in his voice. Greg could see the sparkle in his eyes, however, and knew he was teasing, a resumption to their gentle flirtation.

“I mean it looks perfect,” Greg was quick to add, throwing a grin at Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled in return. “Good because if there is one thing I can’t abide, it’s an ice-cream thief.” He said seriously, and leaned forward to taste the sample Greg was holding out for him. “We did well.” Mycroft declared, and Greg nodded, tasting the sweet dessert before tossing the spoon into the sink.

“Well in that case, I’d say that dinner is served.” Greg declared, and Mycroft smiled at him. Amanda, their host, made her way around and congratulated them on their work, before suggesting they seat themselves so the wait staff could serve them.

There were only eight tables, interspaced with carefully placed foliage and screens to offer a level of privacy to each couple. Greg chose the table, automatically assessing entries and exits and choosing to sit with his back to the wall. The chairs had been placed at right angles, and he could tell Mycroft approved of the fact that they could both sit, backs to the wall and view the majority of the room.

Mycroft pulled out Greg’s chair, allowing him to sit before seating himself.

“Thank you,” Greg said, touched by the chivalrous gesture.

“Of course.” Mycroft replied, settling his napkin on his lap. The sommelier came around to pour the wine, chosen by the staff to compliment the recipe they had made. Once she had left, Mycroft lifted his glass to Greg, the gentle touch of their rims chiming softly.

“A toast?” Greg asked.

Mycroft considered for a long moment, his eyes roving over Greg’s face. “To enthralling prospects.” A thrill ran down Greg’s spine at this.

“Indeed.” Greg murmured, dropping his gaze from Mycroft’s eyes to his mouth and back. Mycroft blinked, then Greg was rewarded once again with a brilliant smile that lit up his whole countenance. Tilting his glass up, Greg allowed some of the tart liquid onto his tongue, allowing it to swirl around his mouth before swallowing. He held Mycroft’s gaze through the process, and realised the brilliant smile had been replaced by a hooded look of equal trepidation and desire. Greg was sure that Mycroft would look away at this more overt flirtation, yet he held Greg’s eyes despite the flush moving up his neck. His eyes were wide, however, and Greg wanted to reassure him. As much as he was starting to want Mycroft in a decidedly Biblical way, his longer term views easily overshadowed the prospect of a quick shag. Greg extended his hand, placing it so his fingertips just touched Mycroft’s where they were fiddling with his fork. Mycroft’s hand stilled, then shifted slightly so their contact was less tenuous. A good sign, Greg thought.

“Exceeds expectations already, remember?” Greg lowered his head and his voice, smiling encouragingly at Mycroft. “No assumptions on the rest of the night, or the week, or the month, come to that.” He was sincere, and decided that explicit was better. “Just sharing this evening with you has been incredible, and I would very much like to do it again, whatever that means. No pressure, just us together.” He blushed a little, not used to being so unequivocal about things, but Mycroft needed that little extra care. The last thing he wanted was to scare off this incredible man before they’d even gotten to know each other properly.

Mycroft’s face changed as Greg spoke, his eyes softening as he relaxed. “I would like that very much, Gregory.” He replied, shifting his hand to cover Greg’s on the table. Their quiet moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing their paella to the table. He placed it between them and departed, but the spell was broken.

“We make a good team.” Mycroft ventured, looking at the paella. Greg agreed, and they dug into the delicious meal.

“So we ended up at this cooking class,” Greg said, enjoying the spice of their efforts. “If it were up to you, what would we be doing?” He watched Mycroft consider the question, thinking that this might be his favourite of all Mycroft’s expressions so far. He always gave such consideration to his answers, and that moment of thought made his face seem more open, Greg decided.

“I think,” Mycroft said finally, his eyes refocusing on Greg’s face, “that I cannot tell you.” Greg’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why not?” he asked.

“It would spoil the anticipation next week, when I do, in fact, chose the occupation of our evening out together.”

Greg processed for a moment, then grinned a little coyly. “Why Mr. Holmes, are you asking me out on a date?” He teased.

Mycroft’s face was faintly pink, and Greg could see it extend down the long column of his neck, where his lack of a tie continued to show more skin than was decent, in his opinion. Mycroft nodded, and Greg leaned in, curling his fingers around to grip those still covering his on the table.

“Good.” He said. “Now I have a number of brilliant ideas, would you like to hear them or should I keep them for future surprises?”

“Just how many dates do you think we might have, Gregory?”

Greg shrugged casually, though he could hear the weight of the true question behind Mycroft’s words. “A dozen at least.” he said.

“You have a dozen suitable ideas?” Mycroft asked.

“Well, six,” Greg replied, “the other half are your responsibility to plan.” He grinned and squeezed his fingers, and Mycroft returned the gesture. They ate in silence for a while, the wine a perfect accompaniment to the rich spice of their paella. Greg felt himself growing more relaxed as the bottle of wine emptied, and from the ease with which he and Mycroft interacted, he suspected Mycroft felt the same.

“Tell me about the best city you’ve ever visited.” Greg said, smiling at the waitress as she cleared their paella and plates in preparation for dessert.

“Florence,” Mycroft answered immediately.

“Why?” Greg shot back. “Tell me about it, I’ve never been.”

Greg grinned inwardly as he watched Mycroft visibly relax, his hands animated with the storytelling. His description of the city he clearly loved were interesting, but even more so was the play of expressions across his face as he detailed the architecture and history. He’d visited several times, from the sound of it, and explored the Duomo and Uffizi extensively. Greg watched his fine eyebrows arch and contract, eyes widening as he explained some detail of the buildings that had fascinated him. He really was quite expressive, and Greg marvelled that he had never seen this side of Mycroft in all the times they had met.

Lost in his reverie, Greg didn’t realise that Mycroft had stopped speaking for a long moment.

“Was there something?” Mycroft asked him. “I apologise if my recollections were not of interest to you, Gregory-“

Greg cut him off right there. “I was watching your face, actually, you’re very expressive, did you know?” His face flushed with heat at his admission, and Mycroft’s eyebrows rose again, his own skin reddening at the comment.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve never seen you so animated. That’s what I was thinking.” Greg added. The waitress arrived with their ice-cream, a single bowl with two spoons. Greg raised his eyebrows, then a motion caught his eye. The woman who had greeted them, and seemed so enthusiastic about their blind date, was beaming at him from behind the bar and giving him a double thumbs up. She had clearly been responsible for this little detail, thinking she was advancing their evening by making them share dessert. Greg acknowledged her with a raised spoon, a gesture that did not escape Mycroft.

“The woman that greeted us thought this would be a more appropriate way of serving our dessert.” Greg explained, allowing some of the cool ice-cream melt on his tongue.

Mycroft nodded. “She was right.” He said seriously, “although I’m sure my brother would have a sarcastic comment about my eating more than my fair share, at this point.”

“Why’s that?” Greg asked. The interaction between the brothers was deep and complex and he was interested to hear more about them, especially if Mycroft was willing to share.

He watched Mycroft toy with the melting ice-cream before placing his spoon against the side of the bowl. “I have always had a sweet tooth,” he explained, “and it rather got away from me when I was younger. Sherlock remembers, of course, and loves nothing more than to remind me.” Greg nodded in understanding.

“I’m guessing then that you watch what you eat.” He said, noting that Mycroft had eaten a very small amount of their shared dessert before putting down his spoon and folding his hands in his lap. Mycroft nodded silently, his face inscrutable. Greg thought for a moment, then carefully took a spoon of the now quite melty ice-cream and offering it to Mycroft. He looked surprised, staring at Greg for a moment, then opened his mouth to accept the dessert, eyes on Greg as his lips closed over it and he sucked lightly on the end of the spoon.

“I’ll have to do something to work off those extra calories.” Mycroft said in such a low voice Greg was sure he must have misheard.

“Pardon?” He asked, surprise colouring his voice.

Mycroft gave him a surprisingly wicked smile, leaned in close and said, “You heard me. I’ll expect you to help me work off those extra calories.” Mycroft repeated, clearly enunciating each word, eyes on Greg to see each nuance of reaction.

He surely sees it, Greg thought, feeling himself swallow hard, his eyes widening before dropping to Mycroft’s lips. Impulsively, he closed the gap even further, placing his lips over the tiny morsel of ice-cream that had been sitting in the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. He could feel the softness of Mycroft’s lips on one side of his mouth, and the shaven smooth skin on the other side. The sweetness of the ice-cream hit him first, but the wine and spices from the paella were also there, as well as something uniquely Mycroft. He felt the other man shiver at the contact, and he stayed there for a full beat, before removing himself back to his seat. It had been chaste, as kisses went, but Mycroft’s pupils were blown wide, his breath coming fast at the unexpected escalation. Tit for tat, Greg thought a little smugly, and he raised his eyebrows knowingly at Mycroft. After a long moment of staring, Mycroft broke into a smile.

“I think I might have deserved that.” He said wryly, and Greg chuckled. Warmth was flowing through him now, as he finally relaxing into the knowledge that he and Mycroft were on the same page. For all the awkwardness of earlier, the care with which Greg felt he had had to treat Mycroft, they had now somehow met in the middle, where they could be themselves, flirting in the confidence the overtures would be gladly received.

Basking in this new understanding, Greg’s eyes roved over Mycroft. His inspection was interrupted by one of the other guests. Reluctantly, Greg turned to face their intruder.

“Hi, I’m Andrew!” he was clearly a little drunk and very enthusiastic, Greg thought.

“We’re all going to get out of here, hit this place I know, they do open mic stuff. Do you guys want to come?” Greg could feel Mycroft working on a diplomatic, ‘No’, and he jumped in before Mycroft could open his mouth.

“Sure, we’d love to.” Greg answered, smiling at Andrew as he told him the name of the place.

“We’ll save you a seat!” Andrew called as he made his way back to his date. Mycroft was almost glaring at Greg.

“What?” Greg asked innocently.

“I’m not sure an open mic night is exactly suitable, Gregory.” Mycroft said delicately.

Greg rolled his eyes. “We’re on a date we never planned for, doing something I would never have done in a million years, and it’s turned out to be up there with the best nights of my life so far. Let’s give this a shot, shall we?” He looked at Mycroft, searching for his genuine reaction. After quite a startled glance, Mycroft was looking a little pained, but Greg could see that his argument had made some impression.

“If you come, I’ll sing.” Greg found himself saying.

It must have been the right thing, because Mycroft’s face lit up. “You can sing?” he asked, and immediately followed that up with, “I would be delighted to join you, in that case, Gregory.”

Greg grinned. “Worked like a charm.” They stood, leaving their napkins on the table and heading for the door. Shrugging into jackets and scarves, Greg held the door for Mycroft and they made their way out into the darkness together.

 


	4. Furtherance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft move their date on to the open mic night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters for this are getting longer and longer, and I'm sure chapter 5 will be longer again. The response to this series has been unexpectedly enthusiastic, so thank you to everyone that's sent kudos or comments!  
> I want to say more but my brain's short circuiting.  
> <3

The bar was quieter than Greg had expected, and more upmarket. He suspected Mycroft was relieved at this, as they slid into the small table Andrew had held for them. Greg and Mycroft had elected to walk the few blocks to the bar, walking off their dinner as an excuse. Almost as soon as they’d turned down the road, Greg had sought Mycroft’s hand, only to find his being sought in return. They had interlaced their fingers as they shared a smile, the warmth of their fingers a contrast to the cool night air. Having their hands joined necessitated walking closer together than usual, and Greg’s shoulder bumped into Mycroft several times, shooting more of the same warmth into his torso. He felt euphoric, like a schoolboy on a date. Their conversation was quiet and easy as they talked about the history of the area in which they walked. Actually, Mycroft did most of the talking, Greg impressed by his knowledge of the city.

“My historical knowledge is limited to school stuff and places I’ve caught a criminal.” Greg admitted, and Mycroft smiled. “I’m sure that you are as knowledgeable about your areas of expertise as I am mine.” He said diplomatically.

“Of course I am, they’re areas of expertise. Completely useless, inglorious areas.” Greg said, though he squeezed Mycroft’s hand. He could feel their bond growing slowly out of this extended connection. The air between them was gently pulsing, their own personal atmospheric disturbance as their hearts beat slightly faster and their breath blew a little harder. It energized Greg and drew him to Mycroft. He was enjoying the sensation, as long as it had been since he had experienced anything similar. Never, though, had he felt so comfortable with someone after such a short time. He felt like he and Mycroft had only really met this evening, and now they walked hand in hand down the street, the air oscillating gently between them.

Arriving at the bar, Greg scanned for Andrew while Mycroft ordered them drinks. Spotting him, Greg waited for Mycroft before settling in the small table off to one side that Andrew had saved for them. They clinked glasses, neither having to shift far as they had moved their chairs side by side, the action from both requiring no consultation. Greg felt gratified that the urge to be close was Mycroft’s as well as his; their shoulders touched as they sat and gave their attention to the MC, who had just jumped up on the stage.

“You should pick your song.” Mycroft said pointedly, and his look reminded Greg that he had promised to sing.

“I already have.” Greg said, and he stood to speak briefly to the MC. The other man nodded, and Greg returned to his seat.

“What will you sing?” Mycroft asked, leaning in to Greg, his face still turned to the stage.

Greg turned his head to speak into Mycroft’s ear. His lips almost brushed the delicate shell, and he resisted the strong urge to taste the skin there, pale and temptingly soft. “You’ll have to wait and see.” He murmured, his breath brushing over Mycroft’s neck and jaw. He felt rather than saw Mycroft shiver, and he grinned, the heady sensation of power flowing through him. Without looking at Mycroft, Greg sat up, applauding for the first act, a girl and her guitar doing fair justice to an Adele song. He was hyper aware of Mycroft next to him, and clapped again on autopilot at the end of the song. Mycroft, after the clapping died down, placed one hand on Greg’s knee as he leaned forward to place his drink on the table. The heat from his hand and the gentle pressure of his fingers bled through Greg’s pants, the outline a ridge of fire against his skin. Greg knew his breath hitched at the contact, and he couldn’t help a stab of disappointment when Mycroft removed it as he sat back.

“Patience, Gregory.” Mycroft murmured without turning his head, and Greg grinned. That was the game, clearly, and a throb of desire ran through him. Now that Mycroft was more confident, he was positively wicked, and Greg loved it. This was going to be one interesting night, he thought to himself.

“And next, we have Greg!” The MC announced him, and Greg pulled himself together. He hopped up on the low stage, conferring with the house musicians for a moment before taking the microphone.

“Hi.” He said, the rush of adrenaline erasing any nervousness as the first chords of ‘Hard Day’s Night’ blasted through the speakers. He raised the microphone, took a deep breath and began to sing. It had been a long time since Greg had sung on stage, his post-high school, pre-police academy days a haze of booze, pubs and bands. He’d enjoyed it then, the rush of being on stage, creating a persona for the three minutes of a song before melting back into the crowd. Now it was the same, he thought; the house lights in his eyes so he couldn’t see any faces, throb of the beat running through his body. He could be up there alone, and he played to that, letting the music pulse through him.

_“It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log,_

_But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do,_

_Will make me feel alright,_

_So why on earth should I moan, ‘cause when I get you alone,_

_You know I feel okay”_

As the final chords played, and the house lights dimmed, Greg grinned, a little out of breath but elated at the experience. The applause was generous from the small crowd, and he raised a hand in thanks as he gave the microphone back to the MC. He was sure the MC was talking about him but his attention was on Mycroft, who was looking admiringly at him as he approached. Greg sat, immediately reaching for his drink.

Mycroft leaned over as Greg had earlier, whispering into his ear, “That was remarkable, Gregory.” Greg smiled without turning his head, though he leaned closer to Mycroft. “Thank you.” He replied. They sat and listened to the next few performances, which ranged from terrible (drunken girls doing ABBA) to surprisingly good (a suited up businessman with an excellent baritone crooning ‘Swanee River’). Mycroft’s hand had returned to Greg’s knee, and this time Greg had covered it with his own, pinning it gently in place. Greg’s fingers moved in a feather light caress across the backs of Mycroft’s fingers, and he felt the bubble around them re-forming, that slow thudding returning between them like a pulse connecting their bodies. Greg wondered that he could ever have thought he had made a connection with anyone, when this existed in the world. How could the similar interests and reasonable sex with his ex-wife have convinced him that they were destined to be together? He hadn’t even realised that people actually experienced this, that it was real; it seemed more fairy tale than fact.

“Are you enjoying the music?” Greg asked suddenly, his breath urgent in Mycroft’s ear.

Shooting a startled glance at Greg, Mycroft surely saw the desire and purpose in Greg’s face. He replied, “I could be convinced to leave.”

Greg grinned, kissing the spot behind Mycroft’s ear, nuzzling his nose against the back of his ear before running his tongue along the edge of the earlobe. A thrill ran through his belly at the shuddering breath Mycroft took at the touch. “Leave with me.”

Mycroft nodded jerkily, swallowing a moan. Not caring how rude it was to abruptly depart in the middle of a song, they grabbed their jackets and ducked out the door, breathless laughter at their audacity bursting out of them as they hit the street. Once they stood on the footpath, deserted in the quiet back street, Greg looked at Mycroft. He was breathing a little heavily, most likely from their quick departure, scarf still in hand, but Greg didn’t care. He took two steps in, fisting the lapels of Mycroft’s jacket and pushing him back into the rough brick wall. Mycroft’s eyes blew wide, then closed, the gasp from his throat loud as Greg’s lips pressed to the exact spot where his tie would be.

“I can’t believe you’re not wearing a tie.” Greg growled, nipping at the soft skin.

“Casual dinner, Gregory.” Mycroft gasped his hands gripping the back of Greg’s jacket.

“I’ve been watching your throat all night, and I couldn’t decide if I would rather you wore a tie and I knew that this was under it,” here he ran one finger over the skin, through the wetness his mouth had left behind, “or didn’t wear a tie, so I could see where I’d been able to do this.” He blew cold air on the wet skin, a shudder and groan tearing from Mycroft’s body.

“And then,” Greg continued, kissing his way up that long, pale neck to Mycroft’s jaw, “I wondered if it would be better than kissing your mouth.” He paused, hovering over Mycroft’s lips, the tension building to a crescendo, before he pressed his mouth to Mycroft’s. The immediate groan from both of them made it easy for Greg to lick along Mycroft’s lower lip, waiting for an invitation. When a wet tongue drew a line along his own, he groaned again, one hand making it’s way around to grip the back of his head, sliding his mouth to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met and danced, tasting the meal and the drinks and the somehow perfect addition of individual flavour that made the whole thing so enticing. And arousing. Greg had been hard since his lips met Mycroft’s neck, and now as he shifted, he could feel an answering hardness in Mycroft’s trousers. He groaned again, shifting one thigh between Mycroft’s and rubbing like a teenager against his leg.

“Jesus, Gregory!” burst out into the quiet night, and Greg jerked back, startled by the noise. He and Mycroft stared at each other for a moment, before they both started chuckling.

“How soon can you have a car here?” Greg asked, not moving out of Mycroft’s personal space.

“Two minutes.” Came the breathless reply.

“I’d prefer to do this like a grown up rather than in a back alley.” Greg said, resuming a delicate line of kisses down Mycroft’s long neck. The taller man moaned, tilting his head for better access, then grappled in his pocket for his phone. Greg shifted back, recognising Mycroft’s need to concentrate at least a little as he summoned his driver. Once done, his phone returned to his pocket, and he and Greg stared at each other for a long moment.

“Hate to be boring, but we should talk on the way,” Greg said, knowing he sounded tiresome but conscious it was necessary. Mycroft nodded. They waited in tense silence for the car, neither wanting to look or touch lest they not be able to stop. The car arrived in the predicted two minutes and they scrambled in before facing each other for the short drive home.

“Just so you know, I do plan on shagging you senseless when we arrive at your place.” Greg started, and Mycroft nodded, his face impassive.

“Hey, this is me,” Greg said softly. Now that they were out of the alleyway and in relatively normal life again, it was easier not to throw himself at Mycroft. He still wanted to, of course, but they had to sort a few things first. Greg suspected it was also easier for Mycroft to withdraw from him. Mycroft nodded again, a little more easily.

“This evening has been…” Mycroft hesitated, “Extraordinary. Completely unexpected.”

“Exceeds expectations?” Greg offered, and he smiled.

“Yes.” He agreed. Mycroft stopped. “I’m not very good with relationships,” he admitted. “Much as I might have desired, they do not seem to have come my way, and I am inexperienced to say the least. I would understand if you would prefer to keep our interactions strictly sexual, or privat-”

“Mycroft,” Greg interrupted, “stop right there.”

Mycroft froze.

Greg sighed. “I’m not looking for a quick shag and see you later,” he said clearly as he could manage while picturing said shagging with Mycroft, “and I would never, ever demean you by suggesting that I found our relationship embarrassing enough to keep it secret. I just wanted to be sure that we are on the same page here. Cause as much as I would very much enjoy the shagging you senseless part of the evening,” big gulp from Mycroft, “I’m more interested in you being okay with whatever happens.” Mycroft nodded and Greg took his hand.

“I have had an amazing evening, in public with you, without having sex with you. I can go home, and call you tomorrow, I can stay and we can cuddle, I can stay and we can shag like rabbits all night long, or anything in between.” Greg said. “My preference is any of the options that involve me staying with you.” He smiled a little. “I’ve just discovered you, I don’t want to let that go just yet.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, and Greg sat back and looked out the window, giving him space and time to think.

“I want you to stay,” Mycroft said quietly, “and I want to take you to my bed. I would be perfectly content to stay there, or anywhere else, with you for the rest of days, Detective Inspector.” Greg could read the emotion in those eyes, and he wondered how long Mycroft had kept his feelings hidden. Probably as long as I’ve denied my interest even to myself, he admitted wryly.


	5. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally make it back to Mycroft's place.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence as the car moved through the streets, now slick with the rain that had fallen as they were in the pub. Finally, they pulled up to a tall building in Hyde Park. Greg wasn’t surprised, but the quiet elegance of the building was still impressive. Mycroft’s ‘minor government official’ cover was well and truly blown, he thought to himself.

Mycroft lead the way, clearing the security measures swiftly, despite Greg’s proximity – he was standing so close to Mycroft that his breath ghosted along the hairs at the nape of his neck. As the door unlocked, Greg gave in to temptation, wrapping his arms around Mycroft from behind. They walked into the house in step, Greg allowing Mycroft to turn within the confines of his arms before pulling him close again and backing them against the wall.

“Did you have plans?” Greg asked, their lips brushing agonisingly as he spoke.

Mycroft shook his head mutely. He kissed Greg, mouth open and hungry, and Greg responded in kind. Greg’s hands snuck under Mycroft’s coat, amazed at the one thin layer of fabric between their skin – no waistcoat or jacket, and he could feel the heat melting into his palms as they ran up and down Mycroft’s back. The redhead was tugging at Greg’s shirttails, untucking him and allowing access to the acres of skin underneath. The frantic pace of kissing came to a stuttering halt when Mycroft’s hands touched Greg’s skin, both men gasping and groaning at the sensation. Mycroft’s fingers curled into Greg’s flesh, blunt nails digging into the skin. Greg lowered his mouth to Mycroft’s neck, biting gently in retaliation. A mouthful of scarf was in the way, and with an impatient noise Greg tore it from Mycroft’s neck and repeated the action, a satisfied moan sounding as his teeth sank into the long pale neck. As Mycroft clutched again at Greg, he barely had the mental capacity to ask, “Bedroom?”

Mycroft nodded, though he promptly kissed Greg again, distracting both of them for another several minutes. Finally, Greg, who felt like a teenager about to go off in his pants, gasped, “Seriously! Bedroom, Mycroft.” He pulled away, keeping Mycroft at arms’ length until he opened his eyes and looked at Greg.

“Right.” Mycroft replied, grabbing Greg’s hand and pulling him along, up a flight of stairs and along a hallway before they entered his bedroom.

Greg gave it only the barest of glances – huge, gorgeous, contains a bed – before reaching again for Mycroft. He buried his face in the other man’s neck as his hands pulled Mycroft’s hips to his own, grinding them together and relieving some of the tension that had been building in his groin. He started undoing Mycroft’s buttons, panting, “Just a warning, this is not going to last long, Mr. Holmes. If you could be less sexy next time I might have more of a chance.”

For his part, Mycroft was working on Greg’s shirt, replying breathlessly, “Noted. You too.” Finally their shirts were gone, and Greg did his own belt and trousers, kicking shoes and tugging at socks, dimly registering that Mycroft was doing the same. After what seemed an age, Greg stood, slightly self-conscious in his nakedness, to see Mycroft, clearly feeling the same way, looking admiringly at Greg. Before either could speak, Mycroft crossed the two steps and took Greg’s face in his hands, kissing him full of tenderness and emotion.

Greg was trembling when their lips finally parted, and he could look into Mycroft’s eyes. It was clear this was close to overwhelming Mycroft, and Greg grabbed his waist, saying, “I know. Intense, right?”

Mycroft smiled a relieved smile, nodding and closing his eyes, forehead resting against Greg’s. They stood like that for a long moment, before Mycroft said in a low voice, “There have been many lonely nights in this room, Gregory, in which the thought of you has warmed my heart.” Greg was blown away by such a sentiment, and from a Holmes, no less. He had the feeling that Mycroft was gifting him something by revealing so much of himself, and he would need to be careful, lest it shatter, never to be repaired.

“Well now I’m here to warm the rest of you.” Greg said, though the theatrically waggling eyebrows broke the atmosphere that threatened to become overwhelmingly heavy. Mycroft giggled, Greg was delighted to hear, and they pulled each other over to fall together in a tangle of limbs onto the bed.

Greg’s joke had broken the tension that had grown as they spoke, and his eyes twinkled as he grabbed at Mycroft’s wrists, fully intending to pin his arms. To his surprise, Mycroft did something with his hips, throwing Greg over and ending up astride him, sitting on his stomach.

“Woah.” Greg breathed, his shock momentarily sweeping away all other emotion, until he realised that Mycroft was naked, pinning him down on a bed. The arousal that was generated in him was fierce, and he groaned as Mycroft’s triumphant grin came close, those long slender hands holding his own wrists down beside his head.

“Hand to hand combat training is standard in my position.” Mycroft purred in his ear.

“Your position is just fine by me-OHHHH!” Greg gasped aloud, as Mycroft raised his hips and resettled across Greg’s hips, pinning his erection so the base of his cock rubbed firmly under Mycroft’s balls. Mycroft’s grin was wicked as he rocked his hips back and forth, mouth hung open, desire in his eyes evident as the friction sent shivers up both their spines. Mycroft shifted slightly, tucking Greg’s hands above his head under the pillow.

“Let’s consider these restrained, shall we?” Mycroft purred again, and Greg nodded, eyes wide.

“Jesus, you’re a surprise packet, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg managed to gasp, his head rolling back at the sensation spiralling out form his groin. Who would have thought it would be Mycroft pinning him down, taking such a dominant role? Not that Greg was complaining, with this incredible skin touching his, his voice, oh God, that mouth…

‘That mouth’ was now working its way along Greg’s collar bone. Mycroft’s hips were still working gently, maintaining enough friction to keep Greg’s brain offline without bringing him too close to spilling over. One of those long hands reached down to swipe a palm across the head of Greg’s cock, where a bead of pre-come had been collecting, and spiking Greg’s arousal hard.

“Fuck!” Greg swore, and it was only Mycroft’s weight that prevented him from bucking off the bed completely. Mycroft raised his head, looking into Greg’s eyes as he slowly brought his palm to his mouth, tongue reaching out obscenely to lick a wide path across that same palm, taking the salty liquid into his mouth. Without pause, Mycroft dropped his mouth onto Greg’s, pushing the taste of Greg against his tongue as he plundered Greg’s mouth. When Mycroft made to move away, Greg lifted his head, chasing the touch of Mycroft’s tongue against his. While this had never been a particular favourite taste of Greg’s, the deliberateness of his action and the erotic moans Mycroft was making at the sensation sent this flavour screaming up his list of personal favourites immediately. Mycroft was sitting up again, hips rocking, looking proprietorially down at Greg. It was one of the hottest things Greg had ever seen.

“Fuuu…am I allowed to know the plan?” Greg gasped, wondering if Mycroft was just making it up, or if he had thought this through.

“Since you mentioned it,” Mycroft said, his cock jumping as he toyed with Greg’s nipples, “ _did_ you have a plan?”

Greg’s head was thrown back at this new sensation, his hands gripping the pillow tightly to stop him grabbing Mycroft’s hips and grinding up into him. He lowered his chin to look at Mycroft, eyes hooded with desire.

“Right now, Mycroft, no.” Greg said, his voice hoarse. “Plans are for people whose brains are working, and mine isn’t.”

Mycroft nodded. His own control was nearing its limit, and hearing Greg’s voice so dark and desperate pushed him even closer. He swallowed hard. Plans could be put on hold then. In one fluid movement, Mycroft slid down Greg’s body, taking his cock deep into his throat.

Greg shouted, a raw hoarse, “God!” as Mycroft sucked hard, before settling into a fast rhythm, pressing Greg’s hips into the mattress as he worked. It was clear that this was designed to get Greg off as quickly as possible, and less than two minutes later, Greg’s groans were sounding with every breath, until his spine arched and he cried, “Mycroft, I’m…I’m…OHHHHHHH!” Mycroft’s mouth filled and he swallowed, again and again as Greg twitched and moaned, gasping for breath. Little in his life had been so arousing, and Mycroft was so close to his own orgasm that a few tight pulls on his own cock had him coming on the sheets, pressing his face into Greg’s softening cock. He breathed deeply as he came down, the smell of sex and Greg mixing in a heady combination. Carefully so as not to smear the mess, Mycroft crawled up Greg’s body, collapsing next to him. Heavy breathing punctuated the silence as their bodies recovered slowly from their exertion.

“Bloody hell.” Greg murmured, his hands still trapped under the pillow.

“You can move your arms.” Mycroft said, self-conscious now that the heat of the moment was over.

“No, I can’t.” Greg breathed, and broke into slightly hysterical giggles.

“What’s so amusing?” Mycroft asked.

“Twelve hours ago I had no idea who my date would be. If someone had told me it would be you, and we’d end up in bed together with you topping, I’d never have believed it. That was one of the best experiences of my life.” Greg explained, still chuckling a little. He withdrew his arms slowly, wrapping one around Mycroft’s shoulders.

“Seriously?” Mycroft asked.

“Well, yeah.” Greg admitted, a flush now staining his cheeks at their candid conversation. “Who knew I’d be turned on by you being so, you know, dominant?” He smiled at Mycroft, who returned it, gently cupping his cheek. They looked at each other for a long moment, the intimacy of their situation contained within their gaze.

Mycroft dropped a brief kiss on Greg’s mouth before saying, “Don’t move your feet. I’ll be back in a moment.” He stood, grabbing a robe before doing a quick clean-up of the mess he’d made on the sheets. Greg used the time to watch Mycroft, marvelling at the change in him. He had been aloof and untouchable before he had made the decision to let Greg in just a little at the cooking class. Who could have guessed the humour, affection and passion underneath? And now, when he and Greg finally had their moment, there was fire in those bones, a confidence that Greg had not thought possible. Just remembering the way Mycroft had slid down his body to engulf his cock made the aforementioned organ twitch in response. Mycroft walked in at exactly the right moment to see this, Greg having decided not to bother covering his nudity. He was too old now to be self-conscious, and he noticed that even under his robe, Mycroft’s body was definitely noticing his lack of clothing.

Greg patted the bed. Mycroft smiled, disrobing and joining him. Their warm bodies pressed together as they kissed languidly, cocks brushing, chests together.

“So was there ever a plan?” Greg murmured, brushing kisses down Mycroft’s jaw.

“Mmmmm.” Mycroft replied. “As I recall, you were planning on shagging me senseless.”

Greg grinned against Mycroft’s cheek. “As I recall, you somewhat took over.”

“True,” Mycroft conceded. “I don’t think either of us would have lasted until the shagging, anyway.” Mycroft pulled back so he could look at Greg. “You would have taken this as slow as I needed, regardless of your own desires. That is, funnily enough, very arousing.” Greg frowned, not understanding. Mycroft elaborated, “I knew then that you wanted to be with me, as I am. Not a ‘quick shag and see you later’.” he quoted Greg from earlier that evening. He shrugged. “That kind of affirmation has a tendency to encourage people to drop their barriers. And when I did,” He caressed Greg’s face again, the wonder and gratitude clear to see, “you didn’t just see me, Gregory, you wanted what you saw. That is a rare thing indeed.”

Greg was floored at this. Mycroft, this remarkable, giving person, had clearly been underappreciated. Had nobody really seen him? It sounded like Greg might be the first, and he realised he was humbled that Mycroft had thought enough of his consideration to open himself up completely. I mustn’t discount the importance of this, Greg thought to himself. Greg leaned in and brushed his lips against Mycroft’s, allowing his own affection and appreciation to show on his face. There was only one response, really, that would encompass the future he had glimpsed.

“You exceed expectations, Mycroft.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been hard work at times, making me question myself, but I have enjoyed it. For what was going to be a thousand words or so it has spun out quite long really. I am very happy with it, though, and hopefully (if you've read this far), you have enjoyed it too. Thanks for being so patient if you've been reading along, it's not been a consistent path but I appreciate you all the more for it!
> 
> <3


End file.
